The Faded Frontier
The air in the Gilded Atrium tasted of ozone and crushed lilies, a scent that clung to the back of the throat and refused to dissipate even when the doors sealed shut behind us with the heavy, finality of a coffin lid. I stood there, my shoes sinking slightly into the plush carpet that shimmered with an unnatural, iridescent sheen, watching the dust motes dance in the shafts of light that...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen